Spring is like a perhaps hand
By e.e. cummings
III
Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and
without breaking anything.
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I'm pretty sure I posted that poem before, but it was before mid-2003 as I can't even find the date (ETA: heh), so I figure it's worth a rerun. In the past two days it's been like a switch was thrown somewhere, and all the trees that were still bare on Monday suddenly burst into blossom. This is what my cul-de-sac looked like when I took a walk at dusk:
I spent most of the morning struggling with a computer issue (trying to read a hard drive for my brother in law that turned out to be formatted for Mac, not PC; at present I have the trial version of MacDrive installed, but it will expire in a week and I doubt I will be done working with the files by then, so some other solution must be found). Then at lunchtime, Amazon.com delivered my mini-SD card for my new phone, so I was playing with music and eBooks and photos and other things I wanted to put onto it. I wrote up news bullets and an interview with Connor Trinneer about his Stargate role (thanks
My father had a couple of doctor's appointments today; no news is good news, as they say, though he is still uncomfortable and I think he is getting frustrated that they haven't said, "Oh, if we just do ___ then you will feel fine." There isn't any evidence that he still has a gallstone, so they are thinking the lingering pain may be neurological or something else, which requires looking into. We are all having dinner together tomorrow night so hopefully he will be feeling better by then.
Have a wonderful St. Patrick's Day!
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